Monday, January 13th, 2025 – 6:07 AM
Jos, Nigeria – Rwang Pam Township Stadium
The cold Harmattan morning clung to the ground like a ghost. Jos was quiet, still wrapped in the blue-gray veil of dawn. The sky hadn't made up its mind yet—somewhere between night and day—as the city stirred awake.
Inside Rwang Pam Stadium, the pitch was damp with dew, the grass whispering under every step. A few floodlights remained on, casting long shadows over the coaching cones and agility ladders already set up along the touchline.
Adam Black stood alone at the center circle.
He wore a Plateau United tracksuit and a beanie. In his hand was a clipboard, the plastic cold against his fingers. On the back of his hoodie were two short streaks of white chalk—evidence of him having leaned against the dugout wall, lost in thought.
He glanced at his watch. 6:07 AM.
Day one of training.
In England, the cold bit with moisture. In Jos, it bit with dryness. The Harmattan wind scratched your throat, blurred your vision with dust. And still, Adam wanted this morning to be perfect.
Coach Danladi approached from the tunnel, carrying a whistle and wearing a heavy Plateau jacket zipped all the way to his neck.
"Morning, Boss," he said with a slight cough. "They'll be here in fifteen."
Adam nodded. "Thanks, Danladi. Today's not about running laps. I want brains switched on. Fast touches. Movement. Angles."
"You'll get some sleepy eyes, sha," Danladi warned, chuckling. "Some of them still dey dream of pounded yam."
Adam smirked, then looked back at the half-lit pitch. "We'll wake them up."
From beyond the stadium walls, the muffled sound of motorcycles and vendors began to rise—the city yawning, stretching, getting to its feet.
The new era begins today, Adam thought.
---
6:22 AM – Training Ground Entrance
The players began arriving in small groups, some walking, others on okadas. A few wore full kits, others mismatched joggers and hoodies. Conversations were low, guarded. Some laughed nervously. Others kept their headphones in.
Adam watched from a distance, noting body language.
He spotted Bashiru, the veteran center-back, walk in with quiet confidence. Young winger Chiboy strolled beside him, dribbling an imaginary ball with his feet. Keeper Sunday arrived yawning, shaking hands loosely with the kit man.
The full squad—twenty-six players—gradually took their places on the benches near the touchline.
Coach Danladi blew the whistle.
"Everyone, eyes front! The gaffer has words."
Adam stepped forward.
He didn't shout. His voice was calm, clear, firm.
"Good morning."
A few muttered greetings came back.
"I know some of you don't know me. And many of you didn't ask for me. That's okay."
Silence.
"I'm not here to make speeches. I'm here to help this club win football matches. I watched every minute of your last six games. I know who switches off during corners. I know who hides from the ball under pressure. I know who plays with heart. I also know who thinks they've already made it."
That last line stung. A few players looked at each other.
"But today's clean. Today, we all start from zero. You don't have to like me. Just listen. Compete. Bring fire."
He took a few steps forward and dropped the clipboard onto the grass.
"Let's work."
---
7:00 AM – Session One: Shadow Play & Positional Awareness
The first drill wasn't physical. No sprints. No cones.
Just a formation. Shadows.
Adam arranged mannequins on the pitch and placed the players in their base 4-2-3-1 shape. Then, without a ball, he walked them through passing lanes, triggers, pressing cues.
"This is not Sunday league," he said. "If you move like a drunk compass, we get punished. Think in triangles. Think in angles. Don't run. Glide. Speak to the pitch."
Coach Danladi stood behind the drill, nodding slowly.
The players, initially confused, began to follow. Bashiru's voice rang out first—"Step left!"—as the backline shifted. The midfield double pivot adjusted. The wingers tracked invisible runners. Keeper Sunday organized from behind.
There was sweat, but it wasn't from running.
It was from focus.
---
8:03 AM – Water Break
As the players jogged to the sidelines, Chiboy whispered to midfielder Kelvin, "This coach na chess master o. We just dey move like pieces."
Kelvin replied, "E fit work. If everybody understand am."
Adam heard it. He didn't mind.
He wanted them to feel it.
He wanted them to see the game.
---
8:20 AM – Small-Sided Games
Four teams. Half-pitch. Tight spaces. One-touch only.
Adam watched from the sidelines, barking corrections and praise in equal measure.
"Chiboy—don't wait for the ball! Demand it!"
"Bashiru—scan before the pass comes!"
"Sunday! Communicate!"
The tempo was sharp. Mistakes were plenty. But the intention was clear.
By the end, every shirt was soaked. Dust clung to their calves. Boots were smeared with Harmattan dirt and spit.
Adam blew the whistle.
"Cool down jog. Then team talk."
---
9:15 AM – Pitchside Meeting
The players sat on the grass, breathing heavily. The sun was higher now, bright and bold in the sky.
Adam looked at them.
"I saw some fire today. I also saw some excuses. If you're waiting for someone else to lead this team, you'll keep losing."
He paced.
"You want to impress me? Win your 1v1s. Think two passes ahead. Don't complain—adapt. You want your shirts to mean something? Fight for each other."
He turned to Bashiru.
"Captain?"
Bashiru stood. "The coach is right. We've been sleepwalking. No more. We wake now."
There were nods. Some genuine. Some cautious.
But the message was clear.
Plateau United had started to feel the heat.
---
Later That Day – Club Office
Adam reviewed footage from training with Coach Danladi and Analyst Efe. The video played in slow motion—pressing triggers, gaps between lines, body posture under pressure.
Efe paused it. "Look at this," he said. "Kelvin is too flat. That's a transition weakness."
Adam nodded. "We fix that in tomorrow's drill."
Danladi leaned back. "You think they bought in?"
Adam closed his laptop.
"No. Not yet. But I think they heard me."
He looked outside. The dust was rising again, swirling over the city.
"But next week, they'll have to show it. Niger Tornadoes won't care about our philosophy."